


Summer Heat

by Insomniosa



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15405309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomniosa/pseuds/Insomniosa
Summary: My name? Ares. Fencing champion of Nordion High. Apparently, I am so good that they call me the Black Knight. However, apparently I am also very angry that they call me the Black Knight. Just so we clear, I'm not like, actually angry-ANGRY, you see... hold on, who is that blue-haired lad over there? Save your smiles, damn it.[ FE 4 AU.  T for strong language. ]





	Summer Heat

Metals clinked as I yell out another roaring battle cry. Behind the mask, I can see that even the most stoic judge nearly leaped off her chair. Cannot blame her, I have to win this one. Anger burns every inch inside me, and sweat tickle down my fringe, giving an itching sensation which only fuels my anxiety. Damn this person. I truly, truly, did not expect anything to be like this. I want to get out of my senior year in fucking glory, and yet...

It actually started very simply. Typical, if I can say so myself. We have climbed match per match relatively at ease because other teams faltered before our sabers. Nordion High sends sophisticated competitors for every year's provincial championship. We are supposed to be the best contingent in Jugdral of all other schools, and at this rate I will give a limb if that means pulling ourselves into finals so we can represent Jugdral to face other champions. Legend says that our school could trace its legacy back to the era of Crusade, and boasts the prowess of Sir Hezul the Crusader who kept his army in one piece in Constantinople. And I  _am_ supposed to be the next inheritor of this glory. I am the Ace. Our school is much-favored to win, and I have never lost a single match in my life. The sword is all I've known since I was very young, and despite the coach's hellish training he imposes on me, deep down I still want to win. If not for me, then for my father... 

Yeah, I have a father too, you know? I'm not just deathly glares and unimpressed stares. Eldigan was his name, an alumnus of the school, and a powerful champion nicknamed as the Lionheart. From my aunt, I got to know that his sword was always unyielding, and his courage was legendary that he could turn pressures into a chance each time his opponent put him in a pinch. He was supposed to compete in the Olympics before a stupid road rage drove his dream as well as his body to his early grave. At that time I was just a toddler, but after going rouge behind my mother these last few years, I found out that his death was nothing honorable or knightly as Hezul would wish of. The bastard of a driver ran him over, and apparently it was that gory because, according to the reports, his neck was crushed under the wheel when they found him.  And so I grew up with the sword he did not take to the Olympics, and vowed to make his cause mine. But in order to do so, I have to overcome smaller mountains first, right? ...

 

"Rrrrah!"

I almost choked on my spit. The son of a bitch's battle cry drowns mine as he lunges again at me. A redoublement, my conscience tries to warn me. I'm past my point. My legs feel numb because he kept deflecting my strikes for all these heated minutes, and I cannot stand it. Figuratively, literally. His stance is very stable, and he mostly answers my saber with undeterred composed demeanor. His strikes, however, are more forceful than thunderstorms despite his calmness. I barely managed to evade the last one without even being able to charge him back with a riposte, thinking I can buy more time to let my weary legs rest a bit, and also for devising a counterattack. Or so I thought, so what am I even thinking, because he quickly sees it as an opening and seizes the chance. I was planning to lure him out, but his redoublementmost likely will not give me the precious time I'm asking for.

I duck aside to recover. This allows me to return to an initial stance, the en gardeposition after a lunge. I'm hoping to steal a chance after this because my position has returned to neutral, not awkward out of being countered or slammed following a half-assed riposte. This son of a bitch fucking launches his redoublement, and I step back, mustering a reprise as my lungs gasp for the air supply I suddenly exhausted. My turn. I lunge at him, powerful thrust in mind. Fight me, dammit. Parry, or anything else. Come on, approach me, so I can deceive you for a fleche _\---_

The lights are on, and our match is halted by the time my opponent finishes steadying his footing on the ground. Murmurs of judges feel like a torment, and I can see our coach from hell, Javarro, condemning me with the most sadistic looks like there never was before. Blahblah and this and that---buzzes I cannot comprehend---finally declares  _him_ as the winner. Fuck. 

... Yes, what actually happened was, he managed to evade my fleche _._  Actually, I  _was_ the one being tricked into launching a flechebecause what he did was just a feint. I took the bait, serving him a fleche,and he simply dodged to side-sweep and lightly touch my right shoulder, both locking my position as well as scoring a point. Again, fuck. So not only he is harvesting points for the actual touchehe did to finish me off, the judges are also considering to reward him for making me to miss, deceiving my strikes, and parries my blade. Fuck this. Fuck. My eyes are so fucking blurry when they hold his arm to declare him the winner. Not like this, come on. Not fucking like this.

"Great match! It truly is my pleasure to fight someone really strong like you," says the winner as he begins to take off his protective head gear. I nearly spat as I'm doing the same; oh so now you want to act goody-goody because you are the champion, huh? At least now I get to see the asshole's face...

He does not... even look like an athlete at all. The heck? I mean, he stands shorter than me, and of lean built rather than he is muscular. He is blue-haired, tying his shoulder-length mane into some shit of emergency ponytail (look, I'm saying this as someone who knows fuck-none of ponytails). He extends his arm to shake my hand, and while he is also sweating and looking ragged, no sign of  _exhaustion_ appears on that soft, baby-looking face. The  _HECK_ even is this guy? "Must be nice to win, huh?" yes, I am bitter, I am angry, and nobody today can advise me otherwise. This is supposed to be my last match before graduation. I've got summer job at a holiday cabin waiting after this. In the changing room I pictured of kicking some poor lad's sorry ass and going shirtless on the beach while watching little kids swimming, not wanting to punch myself in the face and feeling so very guilty toward my late father for not even suitable for half of the pants he wore throughout his life. 

I really should not do that, but I pulled my hand away when he tried reaching me...

This bastard catches it, however. "Are you alright?" he helps me back on my foot as his other arm encircles the back of my waist. Godfuckingdamn it, he even has the kindest, gentlest, and practically the nicest voice I've ever heard so far for an opponent... "Oh, I'm sorry," he quickly retracts when I flinch. "You look really exhausted and I thought you were about to fall."

"Mind your damn business," I scowl at him. Fall? Where to? I'm already fallen. He does not need to feast on my blood like that. 

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "Ares, is that right? I am sure you have heard my name when they first introduced us before the fight, but... regardless, I hope you are not hurt. I'm Seliph. You are very powerful! I expect nothing else than the fearsome Nordion High fencing captain. Took nearly everything out of me just to parry your attacks," he nods respectfully. His cheerful tone does not even show any change despite the cold shoulder I treated him with. 

Nearly everything out of you, huh? Then I am still a loser. Even if it took everything out of him, today I still get to be on the losing side. "Yeah, I'm Ares," sparing him the best sportsman-smile I prepared for victory, I leave him with my dashed ambition after a little follow-up. "Nice to meet you. Now go fuck yourself, Seliph." 

* * *

  

As I imagined, Coach Javarro does not take my defeat against Chalphy High lightly. I can barely stretch my numb, exhausted legs as our rookie rushes to me with a bottle of water. In silence, I instantly empty half of it, glaring at the others who awkwardly stand around me. They look like they do not dare to sit beside me as if that will mean usurping my throne, and on the other hand they are too afraid to offer me a word of consolation. "What are you fuckers looking at?!" as soon as my shoes slammed the floor, they spread and act busy with their own activities. I do not know how to quench the ranging bitterness grating me from the inside for now, but if that means a little bit of entertainment to take my mind off the defeat then I don't mind picking fights. The thought of getting back home to our apartment bothers me because admitting defeat and failing the glorious name of Eldigan is the LAST thing I feel like doing at this moment, let alone in the presence of Uncle Finn and my sweet cousin Nanna. At the same time, the thoughts of getting back to an empty house does not sit well with me, either. Can something... someone... something... do something about anything pertaining this right now? I'm not even sure what it is exactly I want because victory is no longer on the list, but I am bugged enough to pretend that I'm alright. 

"Well, well!" I can hear the Coach's long rough steps start invading the room. Speaking of the devil, he is now standing awfully close to me and hissing like a rattle snake. "For someone who lost to a welp, you still sound so mighty, Ares."

"Coach," I swallow. Hard. That one was no welp if only he took my place back then. He would have known. ... He  _should._ "It was Chalphy High's Seliph."

"And why do you think I wanna know the name of the boy who made you a loser?  _You_ should be the one who carves that in mind."

Another gulp. "Yes, Coach." 

"I don't understand you, Ares," he crouches before me. "You were never like this before. Our Ace, the unbeatable, fearsome Black Knight. The one who carries the Crusader's legacy, or so I thought. And yet you let your father's name being stained through a defeat against some stupid little underdog."

 _I nearly choked on my own short breaths up there, can't you see?!_  "Of course I wanted to win more than anyone else, Coach."

And of course I of all people KNOW what this defeat means for all of us. And now Seliph is going to represent Jugdral against other provinces. I've been wanting to do this for my whole damn fucking life. And if I make it big, perhaps people will be interested in my story, and boy do I know the media is powerful. Perhaps as their interest towards me grow, some journalists with a shit ton of free journalism time in their hands may uncover the past and actually find who hit my father.

I did not bother my mother too much about my suspicion that the culprit probably some sort of powerful man with great money or job; even some moron who deadlifts dispenser water gallons could have thought something is fishy here---my father was a fucking legend, yet it was as if his death was swept under the rug, you know? I did hear if there was something that could ruffle his hair that much, it was his disdain for dishonorable practices and conducts. And that would mean  _everything._ Sportsmanship, life choices, everything. During one of my mother's breakdown moments, she vaguely mentioned about how my father's greatest disappointment was that the sports industry offers you short glory and being run by assholes because money and power talk louder than pledging to care for athletes. So that is why he would always dream of improving the industry later on as a veteran and retiring athlete. ... And as a boy I have witnessed his patience flying out of the window because I tried playing dirty during one of our training sessions... 

... Regardless, now what? I just venerated my father as a legendary  _loser._

"You sadden me," Coach J's words bombed my already-failing, ruined self. "I am always honest with you, aren't I? I took you in because I saw the potential in you. I told you to work hard because being born out of the right womb is not going to hand your little ass everything, boy."

"And I thank you for that, Coach. You know I always will," my mind goes back to my mother's funeral, remembering how lonely I was even though it was packed by people of all backgrounds. Relatives I never thought she had, fans of my father, aspiring athletes as old as nine with their own parents... my aunt Lachesis' distant hug like her desperate measure to hold on to her failing marriage to Uncle Finn. And lastly sweet Nanna, the most heartbroken well-wisher among us because she just could not understand why my mother committed suicide. Standing with me at that time was Coach J, who practically had been a mentor for me since my mother's deep depression. He too had kept my proud ass from beating up idiots at the school because I was just damn angry. I needed an answer as well as a purpose to hold on to, and I found them both in fencing. And yet...

"You don't," Coach Javarro clasps his hands over my tired, limping shoulders. "If you do, you would have awarded me with victory."

* * *

 

 _Heyyy, cousin. Come home sooner, we'll have BBQ tonight! Dad's treat. --_ Nanna.

Staring at my own phone screen never feels so dramatic and foolish at the same time. BBQ is Uncle Finn's silent way to celebrate things. And judging from her text, they perhaps anticipated my victory too. Uncle Finn is a no-talker and he prefers to show his care through actions. And having used to raise Nanna most of her life, he quickly learns the most innocent and caring thing you can do to a person is through food---the same method he uses on me after I started living with them. 

_What for?_

A bitter smile escapes me as I text her my reply. Nanna texts fairly fast, so I figured she understands my implication when I do not see her name on my phone for the next ten minutes. At least if I play dumb they probably will leave me alone thinking I'm just DEAD tired, which isn't entirely lying.

I stand dumbfounded at the parking lot, seeing how the sky has turned colors and feeling like a complete idiot. Coach Javarro is supposed to drive me home tonight. Or not. We are supposed to go back to Nordion High, celebrate ourselves madly and I'm probably going to crash at one of the boys'; or as usual, expecting Uncle Finn to pick me up after the victory feast is done. He respects my family too much but that does not mean he will just let me do whatever I want like that. Although his youth was relatively ~calm~ as Aunt Lachesis used to tease him about, of course he will not be foolish enough to left me drive unsupervised after the possibility of drinking my ass out of merriness. Again, this is a man of few words who shows his affection like a Care Bear.

At the moment I am already too humiliated, too angry to get back inside. It's not like I ran out of the locker room, but what previously was taken as "we all need some air" break had turned into a moment to be a vagabond for me. As others collected themselves and wondered how they should go from there, I took the chance to slip out. Before I knew it, I was at the parking lot, with absobloodyfuckinglutely zero intention to go back inside.

"Hi, waiting for your ride?"

That son of a bitch again. Seliph warmly waves his hand across of where I am now, seemingly undisturbed that I practically cussed him out previously. "Yeah?" I shrug. Somehow dealing with him does not feel worse than going back in to face my own group. Maybe the smile though, considering everyone else looks dead and my own coach is practically busy wetting his own pants with rage at this point. Speaking of smiles, what is this Seliph dude's problem? He MUST like smiling that much.

"Oh, cool. I'm about to ride bus," he nods at me again. I start noticing how blue his eyes are. Just like a sunny, carefree sky. I'm aware my eyes and hair are nearly of similar color, and I can't help but thinking if our eyes met, perhaps mine would be like, the sun while his, the sky...? It's easy to long for an idea of a vague peaceful image for someone who just drank reality juice like me right now. I get my ass served and some  _kindness_ surely will be much appreciated in contrast of the shitstorm I just had.

"Nobody picked you up?" now I'm  _curious._ I mean, what kind of a horse's ass of a contingent who ditches their champion at the parking lot?

... Oh, wait. My school just did. Fuck.

"Oh, I told them not to trouble themselves like that," he lightly responds me, without a hint of irritation. Man, this guy should just be a priest. "You see, my school is under revitalization right now. We need to save money for many things and get in touch with the donors we used to have. That also explains why I started to compete only recently."

"Revitalization?" I frown, because that response is totally unexpected which only piques my curiosity to hear more.

He nods. Looking a bit sad this time. "I don't even know. I mean, sometimes shit happens and you are left alone wondering how it even goes like that, you know? Some intrigued and whatnot and suddenly my school had a change of board. Old members getting expelled and people withdrawing their support. My uncle is now working on to undo the damage and restore the school to its previous glory, so he has too many things in his hands already for another that is picking me up." As if forgetting something important, he quickly adds, "... I wish we could meet under different circumstances so I wouldn't have to fight you like this, Ares. I had a feeling you were deadset wanting that medal as if your life depended on it. If only life was that kind to us that we could be champion together." His tone. Soft and apologetic. What's that again... it's as if he's trying to say---yet I cannot believe it---'sorry for stealing your medal, Ares, I didn't mean to do this on purpose...'

"You..."

"Yes?"

"Never mind," I  _almost_ forget I've been being friendlier with him, and I need to cut off all these amiable talks before I get to be way too sympathetic for him. And did he say an uncle? If this guy lost his parents too like me, then well, shit, defeat is something I definitely did not expect, but actually bearing similarities with an archrival? Wake me up when this ends. In a way I feel my head clearer now, but at the same time I know I'm fucked up even more. "Sorry for the shit I gave you on stage. You're right, I was dead exhausted. Amazing you fought me like a fucking beast yet did not seem to spend a muscle for it, Seliph."

"Did I?" his chuckles are as friendly as his constant attitude toward me through the whole day. So... natural and I feel... accepted, somehow... "Clashing swords with you is exciting. It's as if you are communicating your aspirations and dreams so I cannot help but wandering about you in awe," he reasons. Now he bends over to pet a cat? And I thought cinnamon roll is merely a breakfast food, yet there he is personifying it. "So at that moment I thought..."

"That I'm a loser and it would be satisfying to make the Black Knight kiss his own ass?" 

"Huh? No, no, of course not! Just thinking that I would be insulting you if I did not acknowledge your effort to go this far, you know?"

H-huh...

Acknowledging my efforts...  _my_ efforts? But why... would he?

"What do you mean?"

"It's like you were putting your soul in it. All of them," he muses, and the same peaceful vibe he projected to me at the beginning does not change. "It's like you really want to win but there's a hint of doubt somewhere. Deep down there. Ah, my apologies. I'm not a fortune teller," he is keeping his paces with mine, and from the corner of my eyes I catch him avoiding walking over an insect. 

This fucking guy I swear.

"I see. So my lunges and strikes were half-assed which explains why you could counter them even before I finished with the offenses."

"Oh, no, they were powerfully magnificent. If you only put half of power in them then you would not come out like you just took on an entire army," he answers. Taking on an entire army? I kinda like the idea. "I can't really explain it because I think you should fight yourself on your own to see it, but..." he closes his eyes again, and I wonder if he truly is just a nice wise guy like that or somehow is just too afraid of offending me. "... there are burdens in them. Like your sword is not your own. As if you are imprisoned. And forgive me for this---"

"Life already offended me more than you think you could ever, so yeah, go on."

"Ah," now he puts his hand on my back as if reassuring that I'm okay. "Somehow," he goes on, "by responding to those explosions I'm tearing through it all. I'm still a competitor in a match, so of course definitely I want a sweet medal too even if only for the people who have supported me this far. However, only fairly."

Heh...

There's waterfall quenching all the flames now and gone, gone is my anger at an instant. Imprisoned? Me? Haha. Hahaha. Ahahaha... but at least I'm now at peace.

"... Oi, Seliph."

"Y-yes? Whoa, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Did I cross a line?"

"Wanna grab some donuts?"

"Huh?"

"Let's just go grab some fucking donuts. My treat."

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the chapter VII of FE 4 where Ares eventually gets to cross blades with Seliph for the first time. I originally wanted to title it after the chapter's title, but changed my mind halfway because it did not feel that suitable with the content. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Brb drowning in the drafts.
> 
> ETA: I made them fence saber. When researching for terminology, my source listed a fleche (powerful, running attack), but then when editing this other sources listed fleche to be illegal in saber (some said epee and foil only). My apologies. 
> 
> En garde - the initial position.  
> Redoublement - attacking the opponent after they cannot counter your previous strike.  
> Riposte - a counterattack launched after parrying the opponent.
> 
> Saber-fencing originated from knight jousting and duel in medieval era, and the sword type itself was then developed for military use. So the rules and movements tend to follow the chivalrous ruling of these duels. For example, scores are obtained by touching the opponent with either the tip or blade part of the sword, and the permitted target area is above the waist.


End file.
